Cavoli Riscaldati (Reheated Cabbage)
by LeSass
Summary: 24-yr-old Rory's dream is realized: she's being sent to Milan to cover political unrest for the Hartford Courant. She loves home, but she's excited to see a new city with new people... or at least, that's what she had planned. It's funny how even 4,000 miles away, Rory still can't seem to get any privacy from the people she grew up knowing... or loving. HIATUS
1. Home is Where the Heart Is

**AN** : I don't own Gilmore Girls but I'm enjoying being a part of their world.

** Chapter updated to first person/present tense. Some formatting got screwed up.

* * *

"Okay, what's left?"

Lorelei stands around a heap of bags bursting with clothes. Despite her daughter being gone most of the time, the amount of stuff that belongs to Rory hasn't diminished over the last three years. The kid had a lot of stuff.

"Uh, well…" Rory bites her lip and takes an exasperated breath, placing her hands determinedly on her hips. She glances around the living room, which hasn't changed since college.

"Do you feel ready?" Lorelai questions, tilting her head to look at Rory.

She crosses her arms over her chest. "You mean do I have enough stuff?"

"I'm pretty sure the people in Day After Tomorrow would have ransacked this place with all the crap you've accumulated over the years."

"It's not my fault, you spoiled me! You lead to this."

"Whoa," Lorelai holds up her hands in mock offense, "This is _my_ fault?"

"You doomed us to hoarding. We still have the Max and Dean and Jess boxes shoved in the closet somewhere."

"We still _have_ those?"

"You know, this isn't our proudest moment."

"Mm yeah, well."

Rory pouts suddenly and runs her fingers through her hair, looking around at the chaos that surrounds her legs.

"When did adulthood become so complicated? I thought I had this figured out," Rory says dully, blowing her bangs out of her face.

Lorelei softens and smiles at her.

"Aw, hon. Our inability to downsize isn't a reflection on your independence. This is exciting. Don't be nervous!" She coos, lovingly reaching out to brush Rory's arm.

"How can I not be nervous?" Rory half-whines. "How am I going to live in a foreign country for half a year if I can't even manage to properly pack my bags? I'm leaving the country and I have no idea what to pack, and because I have no idea what to pack I'm probably over packing, and -" Rory stops her own ramble, looking at Lorelai with both worried and exhilarated eyes.

"And this is your dream and you don't wanna mess it up," Lorelai finishes for her.

"Well, yeah."

"You're going to be great. This is your dream, it's our dream, and just like "Harvard!.. No... Yale!," we are gonna be in this together and you are going to be so much better than Christiane Amanpour that she'll have to give up and never, ever pick up a pen again," Lorelai finishes confidently and tosses up her hands, letting them fall back against the front of her jeans.

"Mom! Don't say that, I love her writing," Rory scolds.

"My point is, hon, Italy isn't going to want to let you leave," Lorelai assures her with a smile. She reaches over and hugs Rory, who slumps into her mother's welcoming and confident arms.

"Thanks, mom," Rory whispers, smiling over Lorelai's shoulder.

"Anytime babe. Now, let's figure this out. What's left?"

Rory and Lorelai move apart and look back down at the mess of bags, assessing. They exchange a skeptical look.

"Do you think eight bags is too much?" Rory wonders aloud.

"Well. Maybe. You're only going for a month, right?" Lorelai asks innocently.

"Nice try - six months," Rory says dryly, and the two look at the bags again with disdain. It has taken them so long just to decide what seems appropriate to bring. Now they had to go through and try to condense it again?

"But we just finished packing," Rory sighs.

"Or, you know, maybe eight bags is perfect because it's a great way to meet handsome Italian men with great biceps and shiny hair?" Lorelei offers.

"I think it's too much," Rory concedes, receiving an indifferent sigh from her mother.

"Okay, so, what do we take out to make an unruly eight bags turn into a respectable four?"

"Is four too much?"

"This is crazy!"

"Maybe we should wait for Luke to come home?" Rory counters.

"Good idea. Food?"

"Pizza?"

"Oh good, I'm starving. All this talk about Italy is making me crave some carbs."

* * *

Rory walks through the town, taking everything in. She knows she won't be gone very long, and she feels silly that she's already homesick. It never gets easier to leave, but she figures that's part of the luck in living out your dream - sacrifices have to be made.

She loves the life she has while she is home, which, as she gets older, she realizes is vastly different from most 24 year olds, or at least the ones that she has grown up around.

Sure, occasionally she misses living on her own or with a like-aged peer at times. But Lorelai and Luke give her all the privacy that she needs, including during any dates (though they haven't amounted to much). It allows her to avoid the obnoxious subletting adventure that she had to go through every time her job called her out of the country.

And besides: Stars Hallow, in all of its charming idiosyncrasies and community closeness, is home.

Rory knows the way to the diner better than she knows how to get anywhere else in the world. She knows what to expect when godsons Steve and Kwan - both of whom are full blown toddlers now, babbling and getting dirty and driving Lane crazy - come rushing up to her out of her best friend and best-friend-in-law's home. Despite Miss Patty's creeping age and newfound Guatemalan husband, Rory loves walking by the studio to see that she is still committed to instruction, guiding the newest set of uncoordinated girls to _be_ the oranges and to _feel_ like butterflies.

She doesn't even mind seeing Dean and Kirk arguing, something that happens more and more with Lulu's pregnancy. (Dean "is a giant that can knock Lulu over at any second," and it doesn't seem unreasonable to Kirk for Dean to leave any area that Lulu occupies… including Dosee's, where he still works part time.)

Rory smiles as such an argument is happening again on the corner. She frowns as it ends, Dean barely nodding towards her before huffing and shoving open the doors of the supermarket. Things never really got better after the affair, Rory considers as she pushes open the door to Luke's. That was to be expected, though, and there really wasn't anything anything else to it.

"Hey Cesar," Rory calls jovially, plopping herself on a stool by the counter.

"Hey Rory, coffee to go?" He asks, handing a set of plates steaming with breakfast over to a couple of hungry high schoolers.

"Yes please!" She responds with a smile, taking a look around. It is Saturday, and nowadays Luke avoids the diner as much as possible on Saturday mornings. By now, most of the parents and their babies are taking over the back of the establishment. Rory distinctly remembers a breastfeeding incident that had occurred several years ago in high school, and chuckles to herself remembering how both Luke and Jess had reacted poorly to the sight.

Cesar hands Rory the coffee and smiles at her, waving her off as she tries to pay the $2 for the cup. She offers a small smile in gratitude and heads out of the diner, heading towards Lane's.


	2. Take Your Seats

**AN: Thanks for interest :) This chapter is longer. I have no direction with this story except some mild scenes I want to happen in Milano, so hang in there. It'll pick up, I promise.**

** Chapter updated to first person and some dialogue added.

* * *

Although Rory had her own car, it seemed wrong to drive herself to the airport.

Lorelai had also insisted upon escorting her one and only daughter, as she always did, which of course would have trumped Rory's hypothetical desire to be on her own anyway. The exact phrasing may have been 'over my dead body,' but who was keeping track?

Luke had felt pretty strongly about it himself. He had long cared for Rory like his own kid, long before he knew he _had_ a real kid, and he didn't want her going alone anymore than Lorelai had. And so he had valiantly offered to drive so the girls could talk. Or mostly so they wouldn't get into a car accident from refusing to look at the road while they gabbed to each other with wild hand gestures and facial expressions.

Her bags hit the back of Luke's truck with a loud _clunk_.

Luke had successfully condensed the eight bags into four, convincing Lorelai that Rory did not, in fact, need to bring six pairs of shoes or pillows with her. Or half of the junk that Rory had packed "just in case."

"There we go," Luke says with mild triumph, dusting his hands off.

"Thanks, Luke," Rory says with a genuine smile, putting an arm loosely around his shoulders.

"Any time," he nods, and then they awkwardly exchange glances before stepping apart.

Luke and her mom were engaged, for the second time, but he and Rory still weren't any better at physical touch. It had occurred on more occasions than Rory or Luke cared to admit where one of them had gone in for a hug while the other meant for a fist bump, only to awkwardly end up punching each other's shoulders. Still, they tried.

"So, when does April come?" Rory asks to cover the awkward sidestepping, pushing her foot into the dirt.

"Oh, she'll be here in a couppla' days," Luke says casually with a smile. Rory smiles back, nodding. Luke didn't talk about April a ton, but their visits had gotten more frequent over the last two years. Rory saw a lot of herself in April, and they got along well whenever the young brainiac came over to the home.

"That's cool! She's going into her sophomore year in high school now, right?"

"Yeah, she's turning sixteen soon," Luke touches the back of his cap while he talks, frowning, shifting his eyes every which way.

"She'll be fine, Luke," Rory chuckles. She still remembered how panicked he'd been when April first started liking boys a few years back. He must be dying to know she might be entering into boyfriend territory.

He purses his lips, takes a deep breath, and smiles sheepishly with a slight nod to Rory in appreciation. He considers, too, how similar Rory and April are, and this offers some comfort. Rory had been with Dean at sixteen, and while that had been the beginning of an interesting assortment later down the road, they had been great for almost two years.

"Hey Luke?" Rory asks in a small voice, eyeing Lorelai coming down from the porch.

"Yeah?" He asks, raising his eyebrows.

"Take care of mom?" She asks.

Luke's eyes soften but before he can answer, Lorelai comes bounding over.

"What a guy," Lorelai cheers, coming up behind the two and interrupting. "He both feeds me _and_ lifts the heavy things."

She hands Rory a thermos of coffee and keeps one for herself, slinging an arm comfortably around Luke's middle.

Luke turns the lightest of pinks and sputters out something akin to "yeah, well" with a lopsided smile before gesturing towards the truck and heading to the drivers side. He exchanges a glance with Rory, nodding his head towards Lorelai. Rory takes this to be his confirmation, which she knows he will do dutifully, and she smiles before directing her attention innocently to her mother's raising eyebrows.

"And that was?" Lorelai prompts, letting her eyes trail to the back of Luke's head.

"Insurance," Rory shrugs. Lorelai rolls her eyes and doesn't protest.

Rory and Lorelai exchange glances, a mix of excitement and sadness and humor running like a carousel over their faces. Lorelai steps closer and puts her arm around Rory's shoulders now, a sharp contrast to the waist of her fiancée.

She squeezes and rubs Rory's arm as they glance towards the home.

"It'll still be here when you get back, kiddo," she promises.

Rory inhales sharply, and offers a small smile to her mom.

"I know," she says softly, allowing Lorelai to lead her to the passenger side door.

Lorelai climbs in first and Rory follows, but not before taking one last look at her childhood home.

 _God_ , she hated leaving.

* * *

" _Now boarding for direct flight 6478 to Milan, Italy._ "

The voice on the overhead speaker announces Rory's departure, and it jolts everyone out of the quiet contemplation they had shared in the last thirty seconds. Lorelai squeezes hands with her daughter as they stand up together, looking over at the line forming for the plane.

Luke is there too, but knowing better than to interrupt a Gilmore girl during a conversation, he figured his person was best used to take care of the luggage.

He hands Rory her tags to baggage claim for when she lands, smiling softly as Lorelai finally loosens her airtight hug around her daughter.

"Here's your tags, make sure not to let anyone touch 'em, 'cause you know how much of a pain it'll be to get your stuff lost in a new city and-" he stops himself, noticing Rory's sheepish smile. Luke had, too, begun to ramble like a Gilmore.

"Thanks Luke," she says softly, and the two embrace quickly and notably less awkwardly than the first round. Nothing more needed to be said; Rory knew Luke did instead of said, and his actions spoke clearly to her. He had taken care of logistics so she could be safe and less-stressed, and she was incredibly grateful.

"I'll wait over here," he assures Lorelai, and all but pushes her to the shrinking line with Rory. He knows this is a moment, like every other time, that they need to share together.

Rory and Lorelai walk, arms around each other, as Rory approaches the flight attendant. The flight attendant's smile is warm, which comforts Rory, but it doesn't make her any more excited to board. She hands the ticket over and turns to Lorelai, frowning.

"Mom…" Rory trails off.

"Call me? As soon as you land?" Lorelai chimes in expectantly, placing her arms lovingly on either side of Rory's shoulders. She knows this is hard enough, she _feels_ that this is hard enough, and she doesn't want it to be a drawn out goodbye. Neither are good at those.

"Well I may not have reception right away, you know, in a foreign land and all."

"What good is that newspaper if they don't even give you a prepaid phone? What if you get lost? What if Liam Neeson has to go and kick some ass because you get stolen? What if I have to go kick some ass because somebody gives you trouble and I can't even find out where you are to get a flight to you? And what if-"

"-I'll do my best, Rocky. I'm sure there's Wifi," Rory chuckles.

Lorelai smiles gratefully and pulls her daughter in for one last tight hug as the attendant apologetically asks Rory to head to her seat for last call.

The Gilmores take one final look at each other, smile, and wave goodbye. Rory waves again to Luke, who returns the gesture from his promised-location of several yards back, and she turns to walk away.

"Love you, sweets," Lorelai calls finally.

"Love you too, Mom!" Rory promises, and then she is gone.

Lorelai smiles sadly at the attendant, who nods warmly before going, too, where Rory had departed to. She doesn't know what to do with her arms that suddenly feel like jelly, or perhaps useless tentacles, so she flaps them awkwardly against her sides as she walks over to Luke.

"So, she's really gone," Lorelai says sadly, her voice wavering a little.

Luke looks at her lovingly, empathizing. It really did kill her every time Rory left. Supporting Rory's dream always took its toll on Lorelai, whether it was a few days or a few months. This was the longest Rory had ever been on assignment, though, aside from her stint following President Obama's campaign. But even then, it was in the same country, where Lorelai had digital access to Rory nearly 24/7. He puts his arm around her and kisses the top of her head, guiding her out of the airport.

"I know," he says softly.

* * *

Rory sits in her aisle seat, fidgeting with the zipper on her vest. She wonders what it feels like in Italy right now. It is the beginning of November, so it must be chilly there too, right? Not quite winter but not quite fall. She sighs to herself, wishing she felt more certain.

Not that knowing the weather would help her calm down about the flight, or the layover in Newark, or a total of more than a half a day spent trying to get to her makeshift family's home in Isola. That is, if there were no delays. She sighs again, annoyed at herself for overthinking things. She just needed to relax.

The captain begins announcing instructions for take off. Rory just puts her headphones in and takes a deep breath. The man next to her is already dozing off, and it seems impossible to Rory that being on the plane for a mere fifteen minutes can provide that level of tranquility to the man. Maybe he travels a lot, she consider, and figures that sleeping may not be a bad idea so she can avoid some jetlag. She isn't an idiot; she knows she won't sleep the entire time, but getting over the takeoff turbulence would be appreciated.

* * *

Rory's eyes flutter open. She is somewhere over the ocean, judging by what little she can make out from the window, and it is dim in the plane. She gives a disgruntled look down at her iPod, old and sad and clearly dead. She takes off her headphones, finding it silly to have them in her ears with no music playing, and scans the seats around her for life.

Everyone is asleep. She swallows a lump down, suddenly becoming aware of how dry her throat is. When the hell had she gotten so parched? Had they sucked all of the moisture out of the air several thousand feet up?

Rory pushes herself back in her seat, attempting to look down the aisle. She tries to flag down an attendant but, not wanting to disturb anyone around her, refuses to call out to her. The attendant disappears behind a curtain and Rory curses to herself, wishing she'd had the gall to yell.

Rory sits drumming her fingers on her chair's arm impatiently, occasionally poking her head out to make sure she can catch the attendant's attention as soon as she resurfaces from the curtain-y darkness. How long did it take to check if every other _sleeping_ person had water?

Rory lets out an audible sigh of annoyance.

"All I want is water," she mutters quietly to herself, pouting towards the man next to her. He is knocked out, with his head tilted back and mouth open, softly snoring away, completely unaware of her rapid dehydration. She runs her hands over her face and nearly jumps out of her skin when something taps her arm.

She can't see much around her - were they going through a cloud? - but what appears to be an unopened bottle of water is hovering next to her shoulder.

Rory turns around as best as she could to see the person offering her sustenance, but can't really make out any features.

"Thanks, but I really can wait for the attendant to come back," she whispers to the Good Samaritan.

"It took me an hour just to get this, don't worry about it, I'm too tired anyway," a voice whispers back. It was masculine and kind, though clearly rusty from sleep. It almost sounds familiar, and for a moment, Rory is hopeful that she isn't alone on this plane. She furrows her eyebrows and rolls her eyes inwardly; she knew better than to think somebody she knew just _happened_ to be sitting behind her.

Rory smiles in gratitude and accepts the water from the stranger behind her. She resolves to thank him in person once their flight has landed and the rest of the plane is awake.


	3. Numbers From Strangers

**AN** : Reminder that this is set in 2010! Updated to correct tense and add dialogue.

* * *

It is early when the captain's voice hissed over the loudspeaker.

" _Attention passengers, we will be landing shortly. Please remain in your seat belts and return all seats to the upright position. The time is currently 7:13am. Expected landing time is 7:27am. A flight attendant…"_

His voice becomes background noise as Rory stretches, looking sleepily at the people around her. Everyone is talking quietly, bobbing their heads to music, or at the very least looking around. It's almost alarming how much less enthusiastic for life she is compared to her peers.

 _They_ probably slept throughout the night, unlike her, she inwardly grumbles. She chides herself, wrapping her iPod with her headphones and sticking them into her drawstring bag.

The man next to her coughs and she looks over. He pointedly looks at her and cocks his head to the wall, where the wire of her charger is playing lapsies with the man's work pants. Rory flushes and reaches over him quickly, yanking the charger out of the port.

"Sorry about that, I completely forgot about it," she apologizes. He nods and goes back to reading his newspaper. Rory frowns at his standoffish nature, but soon a slew of Italian words on the back of his newspaper catches her eyes. She curiously peers at the newspaper.

"Oh, wow, where did you get a Milanese newspaper? How's the weather?" She asks inquisitively, putting a finger lightly on the back of his paper, scanning for today's temperature.

"Young lady, please," he scoffs, putting his paper down to look at her as if she has committed some great offense.

Rory blushes, embarrassed. She had completely lost her manners and sense of personal boundaries.

"While I appreciate your interest in my city," he begins, "It isn't lady-like to manhandle another person's property."

A sharp pang of feminist rage gnaws at Rory's stomach. Oh sure, it was only lady-like to sit back and smile politely while the men informed themselves of world news. Rory swallows a huge lump in her throat, choosing not to engage. After all, he did have a point about the manhandling… and she did still want to know the weather.

"I'm sorry, sir, really, I'm just nervous and I've been dying to see the weather all night," she apologizes sincerely, hoping it will earn her a peek at the paper.

He offers a mildly sympathetic look in her direction but doesn't offer his newspaper to her. But, having his attention, she perks up.

"So you live in Milan? How is it? What do you think about Berlusconi?"

Her questions come out like fire and the man sighs annoyed before snapping his newspaper back in formation to resume reading. Rory frowns and shrugs, figuring that it was worth a shot.

Rory sits back in her seat and checks her watch. 7:20. They would be landing soon. Any minute, the pilot would announce their descent and she would have to take about a hundred deep breaths. She never did get used to plane travel, despite how often she utilized it for the Courant.

Rory hears a throat clear loudly behind her before feeling another tap on her shoulder. She straightens up in her seat, remembering the Good Samaritan behind her. She scoots so that she can turn to look behind her, finding herself face to face with... an absolute stranger.

Rory sighs in a mixture of relief and disappointment. Of course she wouldn't know anyone on this plane. She had hoped, maybe a little, that the voice which sounded so familiar had, in fact, been familiar. But at the same time, she was elated that she didn't know this man, excited to meet a whole new group of people. It was better that she didn't know anyone here.

She hoped so, anyway.

"Hi," Rory says, smiling as she and the stranger study each other, doing a quick scan.

She'd say he looks about her age, if not a little older. He has sandy brown hair - or would you consider it blonde, she wonders - that is slicked back, the bottom tucking under his long bangs. He has an attractive face, with defined cheek and jaw bones and the mildest of scruff along his cheeks. His light gray eyes brighten as he cocks his head to look at her.

"Well, hello there, stranger."

"Hello indeed!"

"I just overheard from my very-far-away seat that you wanted to check the weather. The newspapers were in a stand on the way into the plane," the man says with a soft smile, offering her a folded page of the newspaper.

Rory smiles widely.

"Wow, that's so nice of you!" She exclaims, accepting the newspaper and snapping it open, hungrily seeking the weather conditions.

The man chuckles and swallows hard as the pilot speaks again over the loudspeaker, alerting them to sit properly in their seats and to prepare for landing.

Rory jumps a little and turns back around. She thinks for a moment and turns her head, keeping the rest of her body forward.

"Oh sorry, could I keep this?" She asks sheepishly, gesturing to the paper in her hands.

The man smiles and nods.

"That was kind of the point," he dead pans.

"Thanks so much. For the water and the newspaper, it was really kind of you."

"You're welcome…?" He trails off with a small smirk, lifting his hands in a gesture, almost like he was lifting air. Rory realizes he is waiting for her name.

"Rory," she offers.

"Rory. You're welcome, Rory."

"Oh, and yours?"

"Oren."

"Nice to meet you, Oren," Rory replies enthusiastically, before the sudden drop in altitude makes her cringe and fall hard into her seat. She hated this part the most.

* * *

Her aisle buddy clears his throat, snapping Rory out of her daze. They had landed and it was time to unbuckle herself like a big girl and step out of the plane into a whole new world. Well, at least a whole new continent.

"Oh, sorry," she mumbles dimly, swinging her bag over her shoulders and scooting out. Oren had already left, Rory notes, and she scurries down the aisle and off of the plane.

She walks through what feels like a maze of a hallway into the Milano-Malpensa Airport. She looks around, smiling at the dual English-Italian signage and brown tiled floors.

A limo is scheduled to pick her up at 8am. She was actually relatively excited at this prospect. It felt like something out of a movie, like she was John McClane. Of course, it also made her feel slightly pretentious - how many other people would be picked up in a limousine?

She couldn't help where she worked though. It wasn't the Times, though she'd received an offer, but it was the most reputable newspaper in all of Connecticut. Traveling in anything but a limo would have been out of the question. Rory sighs suddenly, no longer excited to be chauffeured around, feeling like an upper class tourist that she certainly wasn't.

She looks around. She would need to find her bags before her ride came.

"Rory," a familiar voice calls from behind her softly, and she turns to see Oren waving at her.

She inhales, taking him in, and walks over. He is taller than he had looked sitting down. Now that she is able to see all of him, she sees that he towers over her by at least three inches, almost reaching to how tall Dean stood over everyone. Not quite enough to beat him out, though.

"It's nice to officially meet you," he says politely, offering a nod and his hand.

She nods her head, offering her hand to him. "Likewise."

"I don't mean to be a creep," he begins, gesturing over his shoulder at a sign that read 'Ritiro bagagli.' "I just figured we would both have to go to baggage claim so it wouldn't hurt to wait for you."

Rory doesn't know how to consider this. She tended to believe that everyone was just being nice, that no strings were ever attached. But being in a new country, heck, a new _continent_ , is making her weigh her options.

All of her ex boyfriends had told her that this quality made her naive. Dean said it about Jess, Jess said it about Dean, Jess said it about Logan, and Logan said it about practically everyone. Even Lorelai had mentioned a time or two that Rory too often gave everyone the benefit of the doubt.

So with Oren, a complete stranger who has his gaze set firmly on her, offering to walk her to baggage claim, she isn't so sure that she should walk with him. She sucks on her right cheek, mulling it over. Her personality had led her meet many people, and even though none of her relationships had panned out as younger Rory had planned, she didn't regret any of the relationships. Besides, how would she tell him no, just casually strolling a few feet ahead of him?

"Sure, okay, that'd be great," Rory says finally, walking towards him as he turns on his heel. They fall into a easy pace, talking to each other lightly about what they were doing in Milan.

"Oh, I'm here on a journalism assignment," Rory says shyly, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. It wasn't like this wasn't a really big deal, being sent across the world to cover the political shitstorm that Berlusconi was unraveling. But she didn't know Oren very well, so the thought of coming off as braggadocious - _or_ revealing too much about her personal life - seemed like the wrong move here.

Oren whistles. "Check you out! Must be some fancy newspaper you work for," he checks.

Rory laughs nervously before defaulting back to Oren.

"Well, what about you?"

"I'm here on a bit of an assignment myself," he admits, looking at her sideways.

Rory raises an eyebrow.

"You're not here to kill a man, are you? Because if you are, this might be a better story than the one I'm supposed to cover. But if you were here to kill a man, I probably shouldn't be associated with you, because, you know, the whole accomplice to assassination look doesn't work for these bangs."

Oren laughs. Rory isn't sure if it was her tendency to ramble or her accusing him of being a hit man that makes him laugh that way, but it's nice to hear.

"Well, I can't tell you now, can I?" he says jovially with a wink.

"Smart man," she counters with a nod.

They arrive at baggage claim, continuing to make small talk as they wait for their luggage to come around the conveyer belt.

"So where are you staying?" Oren asks. "I'm sure they put you up somewhere."

Rory chews on her lip. Was this one of those red flags she'd been warned about?

"Some house in Isola with this really sweet family," Rory says truthfully, though directly dodging any explicit details. "I'll be staying in sort of a cluster of homes that take in American strays."

Oren smiles, nodding. Two orange bags catch his eye and he takes a long stride forward, quickly whisking his bags off the claim. Rory cocks her head sideways, watching. They seemed really heavy. Oren didn't look scrawny, per se, but his body seemed lithe, more natural muscle than gym-created. Not the kind of body that just whisks heavy baggage into the air.

She lets out a small 'oh!' as she sees her four bags creeping around the corner.

Oren notices what she is reaching for, and with a huff, lifts them to Rory's feet before she can grab them herself.

"Oh, thanks," she says, startled. She then looks at her bags with the same disdain that she and her mother had almost two days ago. There is no Luke to do the heavy lifting.

Rory braces herself and grips both bags in two hands, hoisting them up. She immediately regrets her decision to bring four bags, reasoning that she should have just bought clothes once she got to Milan. It takes a moment before her blue eyes catch the gaze of Oren's grey orbs, watching her in amusement.

"You got those?" He asks coyly, letting his arms fold over his chest.

Rory smiles as confidently as she can muster, feeling her shoulders shaking a little. "Oh yeah, no sweat."

She penguin waddles towards the waiting area, praying to whatever God there is to please let her limo driver be there waiting. Was it even time for her to be picked up?

Oren walks behind her slightly, eyeing her cautiously. No doubt he is waiting for her to drop everything. She tightens her grip. Her mother didn't raise a chump.

Rory almost cheers when she sees a stout, olive skinned man in a black tuxedo with "Gilmore" written distinctly on the card. "Courant Correspondent" was printed neatly on the right side of the card.

She picks up her pace and drops the bags at his feet, excited to gain the feeling back in her fingers.

"Ciao, _Signorina_ Gilmore," the man greets her happily.

"Ciao," Rory replies back, ecstatic to be using what little Italian she had learned in the two weeks she had had to prep for her trip.

Rory has completely forgotten about Oren until she sees him waltz up to another limo driver with "Weston" printed on the card. She peers over curiously and notices "Times Correspondent" printed at the right corner.

"Ah," she says knowingly. "So you're my competition."

Oren hands his bags to the man after greeting him, crossing his arms lightly over his chest again as he turns to look at her.

"And you're mine. Looks like we'll be seeing more of each other then, huh?" Oren winks at her.

Rory flushes, but not enough for him to notice.

"Looks like we might."

Oren smiles, and then looks around for a moment. He nods at Rory's pocket.

"Can I see the weather again really quickly?" He asks, holding his hand out.

"Oh! Sure!" She exclaims, handing it back over to him. She then turns her attention to a small grunting noise, where she sees the driver inching his way slowly to the exit with her large bags.

"Oh, crap," she mutters, as Oren swats her shoulder with the newspaper.

"Thanks!" He offers a small arc-like wave before disappearing with his own driver.

Rory raises her eyebrow, confused, but remembers her struggling driver. She apologizes and scurries after him, turning once to look in Oren's direction.

* * *

Once Rory gets into the back of the limo, she smiles, breathing in the smell of leather. Her nose wrinkles a little. She becomes grossly aware of what the leather is made with, but shakes it out of her mind so that she can enjoy the view from her window. She rolls it down a bit to let the air come through.

She watches beautiful homes, streets, and vespas fly by. There was no snow, but it was definitely chilly here. She reaches into her drawstring bag to pull out the weather report that Oren had given to her. She goes to find November 8th in the forecast and notices some scribbled numbers by the bottom. Rory scrunches her nose and peers closer, realizing it is a phone number. She looks again and sees Oren's name scrawled next to them.

She rolls her eyes but smiles to herself. She hadn't even been in Italy for an hour before getting a man's number. She shrugs and lets her hands rest on her lap, holding the paper protectively in her hands.

Rory had no intention of calling Oren, but she had a feeling his number might be important to her later. After all, he was a reporter, too; he might get information on a portion of her piece at some point that he might offer to share.

You never really knew what could happen in a new place.

And if nothing else, it would make Lorelai proud.


	4. Have Books, Will Gawk

**AN** : Updated to add content and switch tenses :)

* * *

The limo comes to a soft halt after about half an hour.

" _Signorina_ , we arrive," The driver calls to her, a heavy accent breaking up his syntax.

"Guiseppe, are you _kidding_?" She asks in wonder.

Rory's temporary home is tucked neatly away in the heart of Isola, Milan among pockets of other rustic looking homes and apartment-like buildings, all with shuttered windows and beautiful greenery in the yards or on the windowsills. She can feel her cheeks hurting from how large her smile is, but she can't control it.

This place is _beautiful_ , and she gets to revel in its beauty for the next six months. She hopes it doesn't lose its charm.

Giuseppe comes around Rory's side and opens the door for her. Her boots dig into the earthy Milanese ground as she hoists herself up, thanking him for offering a hand. They had become fast friends in the car, trying out their English and Italian on one another. Neither was worth bragging about, but it had made the drive fun.

Rory pulls on her jacket, zipping it up. It is chilly. Not quite snow weather, but certainly Fall in Milan. At this revelation Rory's heart tugs, reminding her of her mother and how much Lorelai loves the first snowfall and how homesick Rory is probably going to feel come the morning.

Giuseppe calls something in Italian towards the house that she doesn't have the skills to decipher, and in moments a dark skinned man with big brown eyes and slicked back black hair comes bolstering out of the doorway. He has a nice face with distinct features, and he looks as though he spends a lot of time in the sun.

"Rory!" He says happily, offering his arms to her for a hug. He accentuates the 'ree' at the end of her name and rolls her Rs.

She smiles warmly and, though a bit caught off guard, walks into the man's embrace.

"Paolo?" She checks and he nods, laughing and clapping her shoulders roughly. He is built like Luke but a little meatier, so it takes a lot of effort for Rory to refrain from wincing at the blows. His hands look like best paws and his shoulders are broad.

He, too, calls something out in Italian as he assists Giuseppe with Rory's bags. A short, stout woman who could be mistaken as Babette's long lost brunette twin comes out, smiling widely in her apron.

"Welcome, Rory," she says warmly, gesturing for her to come to the home. Her accent is significantly less noticeable, and Rory wonders if she had studied English or been born elsewhere. Rory shakes her head to herself, embarrassed at her thoughts. Judgmental, much?

Rory smiles and walks quickly over to the woman, who puts her arm around Rory's lower back to guide her through the doorway.

"I'm _Concetta_ ," she says enthusiastically, pointing her finger at Rory as she pronounces her name. "We are so excited for you!"

Concetta chatters excitedly in Rory's ear, pushing her into the kitchen with her. She looks at Rory expectantly.

"I'm so excited to be here, thank you _so_ much for hosting me!" Rory thanks, her hands widening to gesture at the home. "It's so beautiful."

Concetta seems pleased at the sentiments and nods. Rory almost sighs in relief; she feels as though she's seventeen again and trying to compliment her Grandma's casserole. She smiles inwardly that she has passed this test.

"Paolo, _in camera da letto a lei_ \- in her bedroom," Concetta tells her husband, waving her hand towards a room down what appears to be a hallway as he comes in with the bags.

" _Adesso_ , Rory, let me show you around."

"That would be great!"

Concetta walks Rory around the home, pointing out where she can find various utensils and toiletries. It is her home now too, Concetta assures her, so Rory needs to learn where everything is to get it on her own. The walls are decorated with sleek eggshell-colored paint, with tasteful decorations of vines and black-framed photos of the family on the walls. The floor is wooden, which Rory wasn't expecting for some reason, and the furniture just _looks_ Italian. The place is a modest size, but it makes up for its size in character.

Concetta leads Rory down the same hallway that Paolo had seemingly disappeared into, revealing a small foyer with a wooden staircase leading up to somewhere. Concetta gestures for Rory to follow her up the stairs, not pausing for a second as she continues to explain the ins and outs of the house to Rory.

"And here, _mi amor_ , is your room," Concetta says over her shoulder, pushing the wooden door open.

Rory's eyes sparkle as she takes in the room, noting Paolo dropping her bags onto the bed. It is large and bright, with a large, slatted window on the ceiling. The ceiling angles down towards the head of her full sized bed, and the floor has a large, rusty red rug with golden trim poking out from beneath the bed. But the most amazing part of the entire room is that the walls are lined with bookshelves, with easily hundreds of book bindings facing out at her, welcoming her to the room.

Rory doesn't realize her mouth is hanging open until Paolo chuckles at her, commenting, "You catch flies that way, Rory."

"I'm sorry! This is just incredible!" She exclaims, practically leaping over to the shelves to paw at the titles. This is what Heaven looks like in a bedroom, Rory decides. She frowns to herself for a moment and realize that perhaps her romantic dry spell that Lorelai jokes about is true if she is this excited about a few bookshelves. But she reasons that this room really is amazing, and goes back to being ecstatic in all of five seconds.

Concetta and Paolo exchange a look, watching Rory's face change from excitement to concern and back again, and begin to make an exit.

"We will leave you to settle," Concetta tells Rory at the doorway, smiling. "Alessandra will be home soon, she can show you around the area."

" _Grazie_ ," Rory says enthusiastically, hopeful even, and Concetta nods her head before closing the door behind her.

Rory falls onto the bed, watching a bird fly by her window. She smiles brightly to herself, hugging her sides. She hasn't even been in Italy for three hours and already feels so amazed at the layout of the house. She can't wait for Alessandra to come home so she can go exploring. It isn't like a Gilmore to sit and wait, but Rory knows it would behoove her _not_ to get lost in a strange place with only minimal Italian phrases as her guide and defense.

Rory gets up and walks the length of the room to a dresser that is waiting there empty for her. She is taken aback slightly by a large figurine of Jesus on the dresser. Was he always there? Rory eyes it cautiously before scooting it to the edge of the dresser and finally placing it next to the bottom left drawer.

She doesn't plan on doing anything questionable during her stay, but maybe it is better to keep God shielded, just in case.

Rory pulls out the top drawers and eyes them, closes them, and then continues to do this for all of the drawers.

Nothing gives Rory pleasure like organization. She _would_ have felt silly being excited to organize her sock drawer had she not had the overwhelming feeling that she was _in_ _Italy_ organizing her sock drawer, which made it actually kinda cool.

* * *

Rory knocks shyly at the living room doorway, laptop in hand. Paolo, who had been watching some judge show rather intently, turns to look at her, nearly jumping up.

"Si, Rory?" He asks, walking over to her.

He almost looks concerned, and Rory can't help but think of how much he reminds her of Luke suddenly.

"Oh, uh, _mi scusi_ , um, _avete wifi libero_?" Rory asks uncertainly, offering Paolo a winning smile. She would be the adorable American who tried, if all else failed.

Paolo chuckles, relaxes, and offers her the password, to which she offers an exuberant _grazie_ before running back upstairs.

Rory plops herself down on her bed. She sits her laptop on her lap while she logs into Facebook and Skype, hoping to catch Lorelai at home. It is almost 2:00 pm in Milan, which makes it almost 8:00 pm in Connecticut. She had wanted to get settled in before catching her mom up on her Italian escapades.

' _Lucy? Lucy, are you there?_ ' Rory pings to her mom.

' _You betcha, Ricky. Skype?_ ' Lorelai messages her back in record timing.

Rory smiles and logs into her username, listening to the familiar blip of the app. Technology had come so far since her beeper days. All of these websites and apps make her life easier, she realizes. She travels so much that without them, she isn't so sure that she could do her job. It hurt too much any time she went weeks without talking to her mom or Lane, without hearing about the inn or her godsons.

Suddenly her line is ringing, an unflattering photo of Lorelai stuffing her face with cheese fries popping up on the screen. Rory clicks to answer.

"Hey, kid!" Lorelai yells excitedly.

"Hey, mom!"

"How goes it down over? Did you meet any handsome men yet? Did you fall in love? Am I a grandmommy yet?"

Rory makes a face, sticking her tongue out.

"Very funny, mom. I just got done unpacking."

" _So_ , how're your socks lookin?"

"Don't make fun."

"I'm not, I'm genuinely curious how many times you and your socks made out in their new Italian furniture before you decided to call me."

"My socks are just fine, thank you. Mom, this place is so great."

"Yeah?"

For the next two hours, Rory rattles off everything, from the plane ride to Oren to the limousine and the house, along with Paolo and Concetta. Lorelai updates her on Michele's latest argument about wallpaper with Sookie at the inn, as well as the progress Luke is making on the kitchen remodel.

"Alessandra hasn't come home yet, but she's supposed to show me around Isola. I wasn't able to see much after being ushered into the house, so I still don't understand a ton about my surroundings."

"Aw, hon. Don't sound so bummed. You have whole six months to explore and get to know the place."

Rory shrugs a shoulder and moves her lips to the left, scrunching her cheek. Her eyes look down.

"Yeah, you're right I guess. I just feel so antsy. Long plane ride, you know?"

"Yeah I bet."

"So you like the kitchen renovation?"

Lorelai rolls her eyes.

"Sure, I like it, but a kitchen is as useful as a hangnail. All I need is my coffee pot and I'm a happy woman."

"But Luke seems happy with it..?"

Lorelai smiles brightly. "Yeah, he's really excited. You should see him. I didn't know he could smile so much."

Rory giggles and yawns, covering her mouth quickly.

"My own offspring, bored of me already!"

"Sorry, mom. I just didn't sleep very well on the plane."

"Why don't you nap until your faux sister comes? You'll never win me the son in law I desire without beauty sleep."

"Gee, thanks," Rory mutters, squinting at her mother.

"Get some rest, sweets, okay? Call me tomorrow? It's getting late here."

"Alright, I'll try. Love you mom."

"Love you babe."

Rory ends the call and closes her laptop. She hugs it to her chest and sighs. She misseds her mom already, she realizes. It feels like Yale all over again, except this time, Lorelai wouldn't be able to throw her an all-you-can-eat-buffet party and keep her company howling to random frat boys.

Rory puts her laptop on the floor and scoots it under her bed before hopping back onto the mattress, laying back against the pillows. She closes her eyes only for a moment, and then she drifts off into a slumber.

* * *

"Rory?"

Rory stirs, her eyelids fluttering open. She turns her head towards the sound of a soft voice, but sees no one.

"Hello?" Rory asks uncertainly, propping herself up by an elbow.

At her response, a young woman pokes her head into the room.

"Hi! I'm Alessandra," the woman explains, smiling.

Rory smiles back. "Come in, come in!" She exclaimed, sitting up fully in her bed and waving Alessandra into the bedroom.

Alessandra's smile lights up the room as she allows herself in. She has long, curly black hair with the lightest brown eyes. Her skin, like Concetta, is a light olive tone, and she has a thin frame with curvy hips, not unlike Rory's. Rory stands to embrace Alessandra when she offers her arms, and she finds that she has to hunch just a little. She has maybe an inch or two over the young girl.

"Oh Rory, I am so excited to meet you! To show you around!" Alessandra exclaims like rapid fire, squeezing Rory before pulling away from the hug. She, too, has a slight accent, and she speaks very quickly. Rory ponders the thought that perhaps Concetta and Paolo also speak quickly, but slow down their speech so that she can understand them.

"Me too! I've heard so many nice things about you," Rory assures her. "I can't wait to explore Isola."

Alessandra gives Rory a lopsided smile.

" _Parli molto di Italiano_? Do you speak much Italian?" Alessandra asks, tilting her head to the side.

Rory smiles awkwardly and pinches her fingers together.

"Solo 'un po, only a little" she giggles.

Alessandra nods and claps, offering Rory an enthusiastic _brava_! Everyone here is so friendly so far, Rory thinks to herself. She has never really noticed how excited other people get when you try to learn their language. Rory resolves to buy an Italian phrase book at the first bookstore she sees, figuring it has to be better than anything in Connecticut.

Alessandra links her arm in Rory's and guides her downstairs.

"My English is better spoken than understood, you understand?" Alessandra checks, looking back over her shoulder at Rory as they round the corner from the foyer.

" _Si_ ," Rory offers, nodding.

"So we will need to work on your Italian," she says with a mischievous laugh. Alessandra pauses before adding, pointedly almost, "Some things about Isola are hard to translate."

Alessandra turns from Rory and speaks to her mother.

Rory nods. She can make out bits and pieces of what Alessandra says with Concetta, and she determines that Alessandra was letting Concetta know where they were traversing to. Concetta kisses Alessandra's cheek and blows a kiss at Rory before turning back to whatever she was baking in the kitchen. Rory laughs and waves, calling out a goodbye to Paolo from the doorway.

"Where do we go first?" Rory asks once they are outside, pronouncing her words slowly. Alessandra gives an intense nod of approval, so Rory figures that they are off to a good start on this language barrier.

" _Mama_ told me that you love books, si?" Alessandra asks, gesturing to the left as they walk so that Rory will know where to turn.

" _Si, amo i libri_. I actually want to get an Italian phrase book," Rory confesses.

Alessandra nods and they continue to walk, Alessandra pointing out different shops, cafes, tourist spots, and buildings of friends that Rory just _has_ to meet. She also goes over a few historical and architectural facts of the area, contrasting with the larger city of Milan.

They stop once they get to Micamera Bookstore, only about ten minutes from where Alessandra's home is. This is both the closest bookstore and the most popular, Alessandra comments to Rory. Rory's eyes light up as Alessandra ushers her inside, pointing out different sections.

Rory has a feeling that this area will be a much frequented second home during her stay. And for the second time that day, she has this overwhelming thought that she should have packed lighter for this trip.

* * *

"You really didn't have to stay with me the whole time," Rory says apologetically, two bags of books by her side as Alessandra helps her pay.

"We have all winter to explore, you seemed so happy," Alessandra assures her warmly, chorusing a _grazie_ with Rory to the cashier.

The young women step out of the store and Rory checks her watch, frowning.

"It's already 6:55," she says, mildly dispirited.

She had kept Alessandra in the bookstore for over two hours, scanning the shelves and talking about books. It was a fun time for Rory the bookworm, being able to discuss her favourites with Alessandra and in turn receive Alessandra's recommendations. But she realizes that not everyone loves bookstores in the manner in which she does, and perhaps that not many people can appreciate that about her either.

Alessandra waves Rory off dismissively, linking their arms again to guide her back.

" _Quando si inizia il lavoro_? When do you start work?" Alessandra asks.

Rory furrows her eyebrows, acutely aware that she has missed the middle part of what Alessandra has said. She hopes that Alessandra is asking about work, and she tries a response to that.

"I have a few days to get settled," Rory answers hopefully, almost asking a question. She internally sighs in relief when Alessandra nods, seemingly pleased.

"You have time to explore Isola. Your understanding of Italian is _bravissima_ ," Alessandra cooes.

Rory blushes a little, small shade of pink that isn't noticeable to anyone but those who know her well. She waves Alessandra off in the same way she had done to Rory just moments ago.

"You're just trying to butter me up," Rory insists.

Alessandra stops suddenly, causing Rory to turn to look at her.

"Butter up?" She asks, confused.

Rory rubs her chin, wondering how to translate.

"Um. It means you are trying to flatter me?" She suggests, shrugging her shoulders.

"Ah! Okay! This I understand," Alessandra exclaims, nodding. She resumes walking, and Rory follows suit.

After several minutes of walking, the girls are back in front of the home. Rory waits for Alessandra to go ahead of her, feeling uncomfortable at walking into the house first. She knows that Concetta would want her to, but it just feels awkward. It's another moment when she feels like a teenager. It had taken her _years_ of knowing Lane before even thinking about doing that.

Rory is distracted in her own thoughts until she comes to, realizing that they are still outside and both of them have seemed to succumb to a thought. She turns to Alessandra, seeing a panicked look on her face, and nudges her, concerned.

"Are we locked out?" Rory asks cautiously, testing the waters.

Alessandra shushes her, staring at the home next door. Rory peers over Alessandra's shoulder, wondering what she is staring at and why it requires silence.

" _Che cosa_?" Rory asks, whispering to avoid another shushing from the small woman.

Alessandra pouts and crosses her arms. Rory is bewildered at best. She can't see whatever it is that Alessandra is seeing or not seeing, judging by her current posture. The most that Rory can make out is that there is a small light emanating from one of the windows of the home next door. Rory looks again at Alessandra, hoping to be clued in, but to no avail.

"I'll tell you inside," Alessandra whispers, pushing through the front door. Rory follows her inside closely, like a puppy. Concetta and Paolo offer greetings to Rory, scolding Alessandra for keeping them out so late.

Alessandra and Rory exchange amused looks and sit down at the table. Rory's eyes are bright at all of the food at the table, and she makes a mental note to brag to her mother about the non-takeout delicacies that she is being blessed with.

If she comes back with nothing else to show for her trip, perhaps Rory could come back five pounds heavier.

She doubts it though. Nobody could out-eat a Gilmore.

* * *

"Alessandra, _dimmi_! Tell me!" Rory light heartedly demands, pulling Alessandra into her room.

"Ahhhh," Alessandra says with a lover's sigh, putting her hand over her heart as she falls onto Rory's bed.

Rory chuckles. "You seem lovesick!"

"I am, I am," Alessandra confesses gayly, patting next to her for Rory to lay down with her.

Rory flops onto the bed, sitting down instead of laying.

"There is a boy there, _capisci_? You understand?" Alessandra speaks, making sure that Rory understands and is willing to follow her into this sensitive part of her life.

Rory nods and smiles knowingly. She hasn't yet discovered how old Alessandra is, but Rory projects that she's younger, around 21 or 22. She appreciates how open Alessandra is willing to be with her, but knowing what attraction does to people, she's sure that Alessandra frequently discusses her affection with friends. Rory knows the feeling of a crush, a desire to be closer to a cute boy in town.

" _Siiiiii_ ," Rory draws this out, teasing her new friend.

"He is beautiful. He writes. He is so quiet, but I know his soul is golden," Alessandra gushes. Rory listens intently.

She gets startled as Alessandra shot up, turning to Rory expectantly.

" _Non credere a tutte le chiacchiere che senti_ ," she says pointedly, raising her finger with each word. "Don't trust the gossip you hear, Rory. My parents don't approve, you see, because he is so quiet. He isn't friendly in the way they want a man for me. He doesn't bother anyone, but he doesn't try to make friends or say hi. The people around here are wary too, you see," Alessandra confesses. She seems genuinely distraught, so Rory's face softens and she offers an attentive ear to Alessandra.

"He's American, and I don't think they're used to his mannerisms. He just needs to open up. He gets along well with the boys who live there. But he has been here for two months, and he is _so_ handsome, and I _adore_ him," she concludes, putting her hand to her heart again.

Rory smiles empathetically. She knows _exactly_ what it is like to get with a guy like the one Alessandra is fawning over. As a teenager, she had had her own silent, brooding type in Jess. She smiles at the memory but it is clouded closely with a frown. Things hadn't worked out so well when she was younger. Rory pats Alessandra's hand.

"Maybe we can talk to him tomorrow?" Rory offers.

Alessandra lets out a gasp at Rory's boldness.

" _Parlilo_?! Talk to him?!" Alessandra exclaims, aghast.

Rory laughs.

"Of course, silly. How else will he fall in love with you?" She asks, lightly nudging Alessandra in the side. "Besides, I'm also American, so I can probably learn a lot about him based on what I know about different states, that way we can discuss privately."

She smiles graciously and hugs Rory. Rory coughs, taken aback by the amount of strength hidden in this young woman's arms.

" _Grazie, principessa_! You are a blessing," Alessandra concludes. She looks at the clock on the wall, reading close to 10pm.

"Let's have an early start tomorrow," Alessandra suggests, more in a statement than in an offer. "I know where he gets coffee to write."

Rory all but snickers at Alessandra. It is so sweet to see how excited she is about this boy that Rory shakes all images of poor relationship endings out of her head. Rory nods.

"Sounds like a plan!" She responds, smiling widely.

Alessandra kisses Rory's cheek before patting her thigh, excusing herself from the bedroom.

Rory smiles softly to herself, and she heaves herself off of the bed to her dresser to change for the night.


	5. Something's In The Air

The next morning finds Rory wide awake. She had tried, desperately in fact, to sleep so that she wouldn't be rocked by jet lag.

She sighs, looking at her watch for the umpteenth time. She hadn't confirmed with Alessandra what time their boy-watching stalking session was to begin, and she didn't know what time people in Italy got up. Was 7:31am too early?

Rory rolls over onto her stomach, plopping her arms dramatically onto her pillow. Birds are chirping above the window, which she expects would be beautiful had she gotten any sleep. But she didn't, and so they are simply annoying, flying rats that won't stop squawking.

She blows her bangs out of her eyes and pouts, staring at the door.

She reaches over to the small bedside table where her phone lay. She wasn't able to do anything on her phone other than go on Facebook and her email, whatever was Wifi-accessible. She grabbed her phone and turned over on her side, opening up her messenger app.

Wondering if Lane is awake, Rory logs in and sends Lane a simple _hey!_ before moving on to her email. She frowns at all of the emails from her editor; she was just too cranky to think about starting her assignment. She would be excited in two days, when she had to check in and get started.

Rory puts her phone next to her and hugs her chest, effectively rolling herself back onto her back. As she waits for Lane to reply, she wonders about this boy that Alessandra is infatuated with. How long has she noticed him? Is he older? Rory considers that her foul mood from lack of sleep might not be fair to Alessandra, who was looking forward to the morning as much as she was.

Rory's phone vibrates and she jumps on it.

' _Hey, I'm awake_!' Lane messages back.

Rory smiles, messaging Lane to jump on Skype. She frowns at herself and wonders if this desperate need for human contact is her mother's fault.

Furrowing her eyebrows and planning to tell Lorelai how spoiled she really had made her, Rory grabs her laptop from the floor and opens it on her lap. No sooner has she logged on is Lane trying to call her.

"Hey Lane!" She exclaims happily.

"Rory! Hi!" Lane chirps, turning around to yell for Zach to close their bedroom door.

"Sorry, how are you?"

"I'm… fine, just kinda tired and restless, that's all."

"You sure?"

"Yeah," Rory smiles and shrugs her shoulders, waving Lane off. "Tell me what I've missed in the last few days!"

"Well, let's see, Mrs. Kim came by the other day to show me the monogrammed _Bibles_ she bought for Steve and Kwan."

"How thoughtful of her."

"Yes, getting them young. That would be all well and fine, of course, except that Kwan decided that parts of the Old Testament were blasphemous."

"Lane…"

"He ate Acts."

"He _ate_ Acts!?"

"And Leviticus."

"What did Steve do?"

"He just watched."

"Jeez."

"Yep."

"I don't even know what to say to that."

"Two days of diarrhea are what I have to say to that," Lane mumbled bitterly.

"Gross!"

"I think it's God's punishment."

The girls giggle together. Rory catches Lane up on what little has gone on so far, mostly just gushing about the bookstore and her new host family.

Suddenly there's banging on the stairs, and Rory looks over as her door slowly creaks open. She glances at her watch again and sees that it's almost 8. She tilts her head as she sees Alessandra peek in quietly, smiling.

" _Buon giorno_ , good morning Rory!" she whispers excitedly.

"Buon giorno Alessandra, come in," she says, chuckling and waving the girl in. "You don't have to whisper, I'm awake."

Alessandra comes into the room, her hair tied up in a bouncy ponytail. The green in her shirt compliments her eyes, and she's wearing a lovely orange scarf around her waist. It comes down almost like a skirt over her jeans, and Rory admires her sense of fashion.

"Alessandra, this is my best friend Lane," Rory says thusiastically, waving her over to the laptop.

"Ciao, Lane!" Alessandra beams, waving too close to the camera.

"Hello there!" Lane replies eagerly.

"Hey Lane, I'll talk to you later, okay? Alessandra and I are going out to meet her long lost love today," Rory teases, smiling at Alessandra.

Alessandra gasps, embarrassed, and Lane chuckles before waving goodbye. Rory and her friend exchange proper goodbyes and Rory promises to Skype her soon before she closes the laptop and turns back to Alessandra.

"Sorry. How did you sleep?" Alessandra asks pleasantly, plopping herself down on the edge of Rory's bed.

"Don't be sorry! I can Skype with Lane anytime," she assured the young girl.

"And, well, not awesome," she admits, rubbing her eyes.

Alessandra frowns, chewing on her lip.

"You're too tired, yes?" she asks sadly, keeping her eyes on her feet.

Rory smiles and reaches out her arm to touch Alessandra's shoulder.

"Hey! Don't worry, we're still going to check out your boyfriend," she assures her.

Alessandra's face breaks out into a mess of smiles and flushed cheeks. Rory giggles as Alessandra tries to decide whether she is elated or embarrassed.

"He isn't my boyfriend," she finally chokes out, the pink rising in her cheeks.

"Not yet!" Rory teases, scooting off of the bed and over to her dressers.

She frowns and chews on her lip, staring at her clothes. Nothing screamed _fall in Italy_ to her. She settles on a pair of dark jeans, brown boots, and a tight-fitting sweater the color of rust.

Alessandra chatters happily as she gets dressed, filling Rory in on the time they need to be at the cafe. Rory turns around after inspecting herself, makeup done.

"Do I look okay? Like I can seduce a man into giving me his life story?" She asks, holding her arms out.

Alessandra giggles, clapping her hands. "You look great," she assures her.

"Okay, come on! You said he usually gets there for 9:30am? Let's go," Rory urges, grabbing Alessandra's hand, and hurrying her down the stairs.

* * *

"Alessandra, I thought you said he's here by 10!" Rory mutters to herself, tapping her foot.

Fidgeting, Alessandra looks around again hesitantly.

They are seated in the corner opposite of where Alesandra believes the boy sits, with a newspaper conspicuously shielding their faces. Rory can't help but find it humorous that they're essentially under cover.

"He's not here," the young girl groans, dejected. Suddenly Rory feels a pep talk coming, and she reaches to rub Alessandra's shoulder.

"Hey, I'm sure he's coming soon," she quips lightly. "He might just be caught up in something."

Alessandra offers Rory the weakest of smiles, one that is clearly forced and embarrassed. This clearly isn't a highlight of her life, sulking around after a boy. Rory knows how that feels though; that desire to see somebody, to put yourself in places to run into them, that feeling of giddiness when they come into the room.

"By the way," Rory continues, determined to keep Alessandra's spirits up, "you her told me what he looks like. How am I supposed to spot him?"

A dreamy look comes back into Alessandra's eyes. As she opens her mouth to speak, her eyes widen and she almost slams Rory's head down on the table from force.

"Alessa-"

"Shhhhh!" The girl scolds, flipping the newspaper up with a purpose. "He just walked in."

Rory rolls her eyes. At least Alessandra hadn't actually pushed her into the table. She wasn't sure she could accomplish Lorelai's challenge of finding a husband with a broken nose or third degree burns from her coffee that she barely missed.

After about a solid minute of looking like complete idiots, Rory lifts he head and places her hand on the left side of the newspaper, pulling it up farther to block their faces completely.

"Alessandra," she whispers softly. They look at each other, and Rory can see just how panicked the girl is. She's not much younger than Rory - they had confirmed that Alessandra was 21 - and Rory can see that maybe it's not time for Alessandra to face the biggest crush of her young adulthood just yet. Rory's heart swells a little and she realizes that maybe she shouldn't have offered to do this, that maybe the excitement pushed Alessandra to do something so scary.

Alessansra shakes her head, almost reading Rory's mind.

"Sto bene, I'm okay," she assures her with a big smile.

Rory smiles back, furtively glancing over the tip of the newspaper.

"So which one is the one I have to go steal for you?" She says playfully, starting to push the newspaper down. Alessandra doesn't resist, so Rory assumes it must be one of the guys ahead of them facing away.

Rory feels a pressure on her chest suddenly, and her face must show her confusion because Alessandra looks at her quizzically. It's not something she can really explain. Her heart just picks up and she feels winded, almost like she's just went jogging, which she wouldn't be caught dead doing. She puts her hand in her chest and looks around slowly, until her eyes settle on the back of one of the men. Her chest is tighter and she points a finger slowly at the brown chair he sits on.

"Is that him?" Rory asks in a small voice, gripping her coffee cup. What the heck was going on?

Alessandra sighs dreamily and smiles, a small pink blush rising in her cheeks.

"Anche tu, even you can feel it," Alessandra says breathlessly, looking at Rory. It made Rory feel only slightly less insane knowing that Alessandra understood the deprivation of air.

Rory stares at the back of the guy's head, trying to even out her breathing. Something about him just looked so… familiar. But every guy in this city had thick, dark hair and a leather jacket, so it was possible that she'd just seen him on the street without realizing. After all, he _was_ her neighbor.

"Right, well, I should go over there, right?" She checks, swallowing the lump in her throat to show Alessandra a winning smile. She shakes her head, trying her best to shake the feeling off of her.

"Oh! Right!" Alessandra squeaks, smiling excitedly at Rory.

"Okay, so, the game plan is for me to walk over to…him," she hesitates, not wanting to name the devil should be really appear. "And ask him if he minds me sitting with him, right?"

Alessandra nods profusely, shoving Rory's coffee deep into her palms.

"You can't go without coffee," she explains casually. "You won't want to be, how you say, awkward."

Rory bites back a chuckle and takes a deep breath, tucking her hair behind her ear. She grabs her coffee and gets up from the table as Alessandra hides again behind her newspaper. As Rory gets closer, the air seems to get thicker and thicker.

She stops two feet short of him and peers back to look at Alessandra. She peers from behind the newspaper, waving Rory on. It takes everything she has not to laugh. Alessandra was so excited, Rory just had to figure out this guy's story.

"Hey," she starts, rounding the chair and coffee table that he and his laptop had claimed. She keeps her eyes off of him to keep her confidence in check; she didn't want Alessandra to know she was terrible at coming on to guys.

"I was just wondering if I could sit h-" Rory starts off confidently and then chokes on her own voice, her eyes meeting the dark brown orbs of a familiar face. She drops her coffee cup and it shatters onto the ground, and as she looks dumbfounded from her coffee to the guy in front of her, her mouth falls open and she can't help but feel as though she's in a movie scene.

His face pales and his eyes widen, nearly rivaling hers. He pulls his headphones from around his neck and stares at her, practically gawking. He stares down at the coffee on the floor, noting that a puddle is creeping closer to his book bag. Rory watches in shock as his face goes from her, to the puddle, and back to her again.

"Rory?"

"Jess?"

"What the hell?"

"Oh my God," Rory squeaks, much too high pitched for her own taste, and puts her hands in her palms. Immediately, a barista is by her with a mop, talking to her quickly in Italian.

Suddenly the lack of oxygen in the room makes a world of sense to her. This always happened whenever he was around, even after they had dated and she was smitten with Logan. Something about his presence and their freakish connection to each other just shifted the atmosphere around them. She felt stupid for not having trusted her instincts, but how could she have known it was because of Jess?

Jess lifts up his book bag and stands up, feeling awkward and confused.

"Jess! You're in Milan… that's… why are you in Milan? Not that it's a bad thing, you can be in Milan if you want to, in the coffee shop ten minutes away from where I'm staying… Not that you shouldn't be. Oh God, your backpack, it's wet isn't it? I'm so sorry, I can pay for it, I…" Rory spits her words out rapid fire. It's like her tongue has a mind of its own and it's rushing on ahead without her, leaving her feeling trapped in this bubble of awkward awkwardness.

"Rory…" Jess tries, reaching his hand out to try to silence her. She inhales sharply, they exchange a look, and her eyes widen.

"I have to go," she practically yells before turning on her heel and running to where Alessandra was sitting. Alessandra's mouth is all but hanging open wide at the scene, horrified and confused and curious. Rory grabs her by the wrist and darts out of the coffee shop, dragging Alessandra with her down the street and far away from the coffee shop.

Jess is left there to stare after her, not sure what to do with what just happened. He watches her disappear from his sight as the barista clears their throat. He looks over to the guy, who is nodding for Jess to move. Jess rolls his eyes and picks up his bag, moving away from the puddle of coffee, serving as his only evidence that he didn't just dream that moment up.

* * *

AN: Sorry for such a delay! I've been in midterm season and have fallen ill, among a myriad tiny disasters in the family. I'd love for ya'll to leave some feedback on how this played out, because I've been uncertain about it for a few days. I also have a new story up called Don't Look At Me that I'd adore for you to check out! I like to experiment with different writing styles, so it reads very differently. And I have another story I plan to get out in the next week :) Stay tuned and please review! 3


	6. A Collective Aneurism

"Rory, stop!" Alessandra pleads, tugging her arm away from Rory's grasp.

They're just outside of the house now, and the girls bend over to catch their breath. Rory feels like her heart is going to explode. She can't tell if it's from a panic attack at seeing her ex-boyfriend halfway across the world or because she'd just run the most now than she had since the last time she'd run away from him. Either way, a cramp lets her know that her body hates her.

"I have an ache," Alessandra whines, putting a hand on her side. She looks up at Rory next to her and gives her a pained look.

"I'm," Rory breathes, coughing, "I'm so out of shape."

The girls exchange glances and giggle, and Rory's just glad that Alessandra isn't too upset to laugh with her.

"Will you tell me?" Alessandra tries, pushing off her own thighs to lift her torso. Rory frowns and does the same, hugging her sides.

"Alessandra," she begins, biting her lip. What was a tactful way to explain the Olympic run they'd just participated in?

She looks warily at the end of the street. For the first time, she becomes painstakingly aware that not only is Jess in Isola, but he's living next door to her. And, she realizes wide-eyed, that he is both unavoidable and might be heading home to clear his own head after such a chance meeting. At this, Rory grabs Alessandra's arm again and pulls her toward the front door.

"I'll tell you inside," Rory promises, taking a deep breath.

Alessandra looks troubled but she nods, pushing through into the house. This wasn't quite how she had thought the morning would go. Rory had looked like she'd seen a ghost, and she had been speaking so fast to the guy that Alessandra hadn't been able to understand much. The one thing she had caught on to was that he had known Rory's name, and that could either be good or bad for Alessandra. Based on the reaction Rory had had, she was leaning more on the bad and her heart sinks at this.

The girls are quiet as they enter the house. Alessandra grabs Rory's hand from in front of her and leads them back to the end of the house and stops outside of her bedroom.

She turns to Rory, watching as her face changes expressions rapidly in mere seconds. Alessandra bites her lip, something that Rory realizes she also does when she's conflicted, and looks at her door.

"Do you want to talk later?" She asks softly.

Rory could cry. She nods slowly, giving Alessandra a look that was a mixture of relief and gratefulness. Alessandra smiles and pats Rory's hand and opens the door to her room.

As Rory turns to go upstairs so she can mull things over, she hears Alessandra's door creak and she turns around.

"Lo conosci?" She asks, looking quizzically at Rory.

Rory nods slowly, glad that Alessandra hadn't asked about a more personal kind of knowing. Alessandra nods back, a thoughtful expression on her face. She smiles.

" _Ciao_ , Rory," she calls softly.

Rory smiles and waves, turning quickly on her heel to run upstairs to her bedroom.

* * *

" _Michel_ ," Lorelai asks, dragging out his name as she pops up behind the desk next to him.

"Yes, Lorelai?" he returns boredly, double checking reservations in a thick binder.

"Did you forget to tell me something?" She asks, leaning on the desk.

"If by forget to tell you something you mean how much I hate our guests and their stupid clucking alarm clocks, then yes, I have," he drolls, eying her with his usual lack of enthusiasm.

"Michel, it's a rooster alarm," Lorelai points out.

"And?"

"Roosters don't cluck. They cockadoodledoo."

"What _ever_ ," he spits, throwing down his pencil. "It is annoying and they do not wake up to the first or second alarm and I hate them!"

Lorelai looks at him with exasperation. He didn't look unlike a spoiled child, with the way he was whining, but that wasn't unusual for him either. She sighs; this isn't really why she'd come to talk to him.

"Okay, Michel, I will ask them to change it to a nice sheep _baa_ ," she consoles, patting him on the shoulder. He glares at her, but she takes it in stride and continues.

"Sookie told me Rory called," she continues, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Yes, she called," Michel admits, returning to his duties.

"Why did Sookie know before I knew?"

"You were busy with that scruffy man of yours," he waves dismissively. Lorelai crosses her arms over her chest.

"I'm never too busy to talk to my daughter!"

"She told me to give you the message."

"Which was?"

"That she called."

"You're impossible!" Lorelai throws up her hands. "Did you at least get her prepaid phone number?"

Michel hands over a sticky note with a phone number and a name scribbled on it. Lorelai narrows her eyes and gives Michel her best angry look.

"You did not _ask_ me if she left a number when you started talking to me Lorelai," he says pointedly, anticipating her next verbal spew. She sighs, realizing she isn't winning this one, and turns to leave the room, pulling out her cell phone.

"What's this name?" She asks curiously, turning back around. Sometimes it was impossible trying to read his writing.

"Tess? Bess? I don't know," he shrugs dismissively.

Her eyes widen. " _Jess_?!" She exclaims, looking incredulously at Michel.

"Perhaps."

"Rory said this name? She said Jess?"

" _I don't remember_!"

"Gah! Useless!" Lorelai bellows and stalks out of the room to return Rory's call. Rory picks up on the second ring.

"Mom!" Rory yells into the other line.

"Rory!" Lorelai shrieks back.

"Jess!"

"Jess what!"

"He's here," Rory gasps into the phone.

"In Italy?!"

" _He's my next door neighbor_."

"..."

"Mom?"

"Sorry, I think I had an aneurism."

* * *

Jess flicks his pen in his fingers. His leg is tapping a mile a minute and he can't concentrate at all. What the hell was Rory doing here? In Italy? In Isola?

This had to be some cruel joke from the universe. He hadn't seen or heard from Rory in two years. They weren't on _bad_ terms, per se, but the last time she'd been around, she'd used him to get back at her boyfriend for cheating on her.

Jess hadn't regretted that she'd come, and he had told her that. After all, she had always been that one person who, against his better convictions, could render him senseless. He wasn't proud of how quickly he moved when she beckoned, but he resigned himself to believing it would just be that way until another woman wowed him. But even so, there were more favorable conditions under which he could have seen her last.

He hasn't thought of her for at least a year. He had seen her on TV once, when she was following Obama's campaign. It made him happy to see her doing bigger things, but it was also hard. He had shared his first book with her, but she hadn't shared her first big journalism assignment with him.

Jess was in no way still in love with her; at least, that's what he told himself. At the very least he wasn't pining after her anymore, which was completely true. She was more of a sweet and tender memory than anything else, and he had finally become okay with that after her visit.

And yet here he is, distracted and unable to focus on his writing. All he can do is think about her and how fast she had run out of the coffee place. For all of the running he had done when they were younger, she seemed to be doing her fair share in their twenties.

He sips his coffee, grimacing when he realizes that it's grown cold.

He closes his laptop, annoyed, and crosses his arms over his chest, staring out the window. And who had been the girl she'd grabbed? He contemplates, itching for a cigarette.

He frowns and sighs, digging into his bookbag. He _had_ been trying to quit.

He finds his pack and lighter and steps outside, leaving his items in the shop. He lights the cigarette and takes a long drag, slowly blowing out the smoke. An older woman passing by gives him a dirty look and he stares at her blankly, flicking ash from cigarette. She huffs and moves along. He chuckles and stares at the ground.

He thinks about Rory, which he's been doing the last hour. He notes that her hair hasn't changed much since he'd seen her, but that her body has been filling out more. More into her adult self. And then he thinks to the younger girl.

He furrows his eyebrows. It wasn't unusual that Rory would have friends there. He did too, contrary to what his neighbors thought. But he couldn't shake feeling like he knew the girl, and that feeling of knowing made it more troublesome simply because Rory was now involved.

It wasn't impossible that she just looked like somebody he knew. It wasn't as if the girls around him were drastically different in their features - olive skin, bright eyes, dark hair. The one thing that he couldn't shake was how green her eyes had been, something he didn't see very often around him.

Suddenly, his brain processes something that Rory had said. It hits him almost like lightning.

" _...you can be in Milan if you want to, in the coffee shop ten minutes away from where I'm staying…"_

He abandons his cigarette on the ground to go inside to grab his things. He stalks past his cigarette, still emitting smoke, determined to get home.

He knows why the girl looks so familiar.

* * *

 **AN** : Sorry for the delay :) This chapter was originally a lot longer, but I decided to move a bunch of stuff to chapter seven. It was fun adding more perspectives into the story instead of just focusing on Rory. Reviews are appreciated!

P.S. I'm infatuated with my newest fanfiction, Taming Hemingway, which is an AU lining up with canon events in seasons 2/3. I'd love for you to check it out and let me know what you think :) I still adore this fanfiction, but that's quickly becoming my favourite.


End file.
